


Look the Wrong Way

by yeaka



Category: Agent Carter (TV)
Genre: F/F, Ficlet, Pre-Femslash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-07
Updated: 2015-01-07
Packaged: 2018-03-06 12:01:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3133724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peggy gets a refill.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Look the Wrong Way

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I’ve only seen the first ep of Agent Carter and remember zero other Marvel things, so please forgive my ignorance. Thought I’d try to drabble the show anyway because it was so lovely. Special thanks to my darling abbeyjewel who showed it to me and betaed!
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own Agent Carter or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

It’s stifling hot when it first comes, lapping at the porcelain sides of her cup with feigned innocence. It must’ve been bubbling not that long ago, but by now the steam’s been tempered, and the only sign of its true peril is the scalding way it burns down her throat. Peggy winds up blowing on it before every sip, though the weak attempts seem futile.

She takes only shallow little sips and places it back down on its saucer in-between, clanking lightly against the table. She keeps a faint tab on it out the corner of her eyes—no sense drinking it all before her ‘meeting’ even starts—but she still has more than half left. Her eyes are trained forward on the newspaper in her hands, though, in truth, her focus is on the booth behind her—still devoid of Jarvis.

It isn’t like him to be late. Hardly a proper gentlemanly thing for him to do, making a lady wait. She’s sure he has a good reason, but nonetheless, he’ll get a light scolding. At least one coy remark. The paper today is boring, or at least, relatively boring to her; even as drab as her workmates like to try and keep her life, her world is more thrilling than the everyday mishaps the news reports. Still, reading is better than nothing, and she’s willing to wait at least another half hour before she deems this day a total loss.

She hears the click of heels coming long before Angie is anywhere near her, and Peggy’s fingers tighten fractionally around the edges of her paper. Angie is a far better distraction, but Peggy...

Peggy is still trying not to get too _attached._

Angie makes it hard. She appears at the side of Peggy’s table, the blue hem of her dress shifting out around her thighs even after she’s stopped. The lines of the uniform are too stiff to do Angie’s beauty justice, but they still hug her curves in all the right places, still let her shine. Her smile is too friendly, too inviting: a notch above what all the other patrons receive. It makes Peggy feel vaguely _special_ , when the rest of the world seems to make her fight for that appraisal. With one hand on the smooth jut of her hips, Angie lifts a coffee pot in the other, offering, “Can I get you a refill?”

No. Coffee has its uses, but Peggy isn’t planning to stay long enough to go through two cups. Angie’s smiling like she’d like Peggy to, but that’s a temptation Peggy’s already given into too many times. It’s an easy trap to fall for, with the way Angie’s green eyes sparkle in such earnest, the pot arching forward. 

Peggy’s usually so-slick tongue sticks in her mouth, and she finds herself sighing, “Yes, please.” If she’s going to surrender, she might as well participate, and she takes her cup up by the handle, holding it out. Angie grins wide enough to show teeth, like she’s pleased to guess exactly what Peggy wanted.

Though Peggy couldn’t care less about the coffee, she enjoys the reward of lingering company. Angie tilts elegantly forward with the sort of grace only years of service give, her pot’s contents streaming easily into Peggy’s cup, the touch light enough to not even splash. It probably isn’t necessary to lean in like that, but then, neither is Angie’s bright aura or constant attention. Any of the perks Peggy gets. Peggy means to watch her mug fill, but instead she finds herself eyeing the bend of Angie’s body, the tight fit of the fabric stretched across her chest, the dull orange collar, the soft lines of her face and the buoyant curls of her hair. The light streaming through the windows gives her all different sorts of shades from honey to chestnut, coiled so neatly behind her ears.

And then there’s her perfume, wafting forward to fill Peggy’s air, a wild allure that hasn’t called to her in years. It’s never a good path to go down, she knows, getting trapped by the pungent scent of another woman in mid-dance, painted up to attract mates or simply enhance one’s natural beauty. In their stifling society, there’s nothing Peggy can do about it, and it’s just _easier_ to hunt men instead, even though that road still _stings_ , too, but Peggy’s always been drawn to the harder way, the dangerous edge, and the way Angie’s plush lips curl up for her makes her chest clench—not again...

Then her cup has as much coffee as it can hold, and Angie straightens back up. She says, sultrier than she can ever know, “Let me know if you need anything else.”

Peggy needs to keep her head in the game and not drag anyone else into her damaged arms for another bout of bad luck. But all she does is smile her rouged lips and breathe, “Thank you.” Angie’s cheeks look a little flushed, like if Peggy just reached out and said that _little bit more_ , she’d have everything she wanted.

But Angie’s on duty, and she has to turn. She has to walk away, her hips swaying with each step, heels magnifying the arch of her legs, the click-click of her parting theme. Peggy stares too long. Her gaze isn’t envious, just mildly longing, until she catches her eyes straying too low down Angie’s form, and she forces herself to look away. No need to ogle a woman the way she hates men doing to her. Her intentions are different, of course; she doesn’t devalue Angie at all; she sees a whole person behind the raw beauty, but nonetheless, she fluffs out her newspaper and returns to scanning the dredges of petty crime.

Over the edge of it, Angie appears back behind the counter, sorting dishes and wiping things off. When she catches Peggy looking, she grins again. When Peggy’s in the diner, it seems like she never stops.

Peggy looks down at her coffee and takes another sip, thinking: someday. _Maybe someday._


End file.
